A Man's Reverie

How cold the old porch seems.    A dreary chill
    Creeps upward from the river at twilight,
    And yet, I like to linger here at night,
And dream the summer tarries with us still.

The summer and the summer guests, or guest.
    (Men rarely dream in plurals.)    Over there
    Beyond the pillars, stands the rustic chair,
As bare and empty as a robin's nest.

No pretty head reclines its golden bands
    Against the back.    No playful winds disclose
    Distracting glimpses of embroidered hose:
No palm leaf waves in dainty, dangerous hands.

How cold it is!    That star up yonder gleams
    A white ice sickle from the heavenly eaves.
    That bleak wind from the river sighs and grieves,
Perchance o'er some poor fellow's broken dreams.

Come in, and shut the door, and leave that star
    To watch above the lonely portico.
    Summer and summer guests and dreams must go.
Well, Fate was kind to leave me my cigar.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Ella Wheeler Wilcox was an American author and poet, born on November 5, 1850, and died on October 30, 1919. She was known for her works expressing optimistic views and moral lessons. Her most famous book was 'Poems of Passion'. Her poem 'Solitude' contains the famous lines, 'Laugh, and the world laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone'. Over her career, Wilcox became popularly known as a 'people's poet'.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Life Is Love

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Death's Protest

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The Law

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

English

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Estranged

So well I knew your habits and your ways,
That like a picture painted on the skies,
At the sweet closing of the summer days,
    You stand before my eyes.

I see you on the old verandah there,
While slow the shadows of the twilight fall,
I see the very carving on the chair
    You tilt against the wall.

The West grows dim.    The faithful evening star
Comes out and sheds its tender patient beam.
I almost catch the scent of your cigar,
    As you sit there and dream.

But dream of what?    I know your outward life -
Your ways, your habits; know they have not changed.
But has one thought of me survived the strife
    Since we two were estranged?

I know not of the workings of your heart;
And yet I sometimes make myself believe
That...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

December

Upon December's windy portico
The Old Year stood, and looked out where the sun
Went wading down the West, through drifting clouds.
'I, too, shall sink full soon to rest,' he sighed,
'And follow where my children's feet have trod;
Brave January, beauteous May and June,
My lovely daughters, and my valiant sons,
All, all save one, have left me for that bourne
Men call the Past.    It seems but yesterday
I saw fair August, laughing with the Sea,
Snaring the Earth with her seductive wiles,
And making conquest, even of the Sun.
Yet has she gone, and left me here to mourn.'
Then spake December, from an open door:
'Father, the night grows cold; come in and rest.
Sit with me here beside this glowing grate;
I have not left thee; thou art not alone;
My house is thin...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Two Rooms

One room is full of luxury, and dim
    With that soft moonlit radiance of light
That she best loves, who sits and dreams of him
    Her heart has crowned as knight.

And one is bare, and comfortless, and dim
    With that strange, fitful glimmer that is shed
By candles casting shadows weird and grim,
    Above the sheeted dead.

In one, a round and beautiful young face
    Is full of wordless rapture; and so fair
You know her breast is joy's best dwelling-place;
    You know sweet love is there.

In one, there lies a white and wasted face
    Whereon is frozen such supreme despair,
You need but look to know what left the trace;
    You know love has been there.

To one he comes!    She leans her head of gold
    Upon his breast...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Leudemann's-On-The-River.

Toward even when the day leans down
    To kiss the upturned face of night,
Out just beyond the loud-voiced town
    I know a spot of calm delight.
Like crimson arrows from a quiver
    The red rays pierce the waters flowing
While we go dreaming, singing, rowing
    To Leudemann's-on-the-River.

The hills, like some glad mocking-bird,
    Send back our laughter and our singing,
While faint - and yet more faint is heard
    The steeple bells all sweetly ringing.
Some message did the winds deliver
    To each glad heart that August night,
All heard, but all heard not aright;
    By Leudemann's-on-the-River.

Night falls as in some foreign clime,
    Between the hills that slope and rise.
So dusk the shades at landing time,
    We could n...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Leudemanns-On-The-River.

Toward even, when the day leans down
    To kiss the upturned face of night,
Out just beyond the loud-voiced town
    I know a spot of calm delight.
Like crimson arrows from a quiver
    The red rays pierce the waters flowing,
    While we go dreaming, singing, rowing
To Leudemanns-on-the-River.

The hills, like some glad mocking-bird,
    Send back our laughter and our singing,
While faint - and yet more faint is heard
    The steeple bells all sweetly ringing.
Some message did the winds deliver
    To each glad heart that August night,
    All heard, but all heard not aright,
By Leudemanns-on-the-River.

Night falls as in some foreign clime,
    Between the hills that slope and rise.
So dusk the shades at landing-time,
    We could n...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

An Old Man To His Sleeping Young Bride

As when the old moon lighted by the tender
    And radiant crescent of the new is seen,
And for a moment's space suggests the splendor
    Of what in its full prime it once has been,
So on my waning years you cast the glory
    Of youth and pleasure, for a little hour;
And life again seems like an unread story,
    And joy and hope both stir me with their power.

Can blooming June be fond of bleak December?
    I dare not wait to hear my heart reply.
I will forget the question -and remember
    Alone the priceless feast spread for mine eye,
That radiant hair that flows across the pillows,
    Like shimmering sunbeams over drifts of snow;
Those heaving breasts, like undulating billows,
    Whose dangers or delights but Love can know.

That crimson mou...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox